I was out of internet range last night so today there are two. I am having fun with my British monarchy poems.
April 9, 1483
The saint’s mad cackling long ago ceased to ring off the walls of the Tower,
The bloom on the cheeks of the last red rose is decades faded
And modus et ordo reign in England.
Private executions in a butt of wine, brothers wed to enemies,
French treaties and another child king…it seems the name Edward
Is out of favor with the Fates and, alas!
A Tudor in exile is nothing the same as a Lancastrian dead.